


Ice lined secrets

by MarvelsMenace



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, College AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 07:03:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17075630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelsMenace/pseuds/MarvelsMenace
Summary: Matt had been planning on telling Foggy about his powers eventually, he just hadn't expected that "eventually" would include today.





	Ice lined secrets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [94BottlesOfSnapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/gifts).



> Secret Santa fill for the folowing prompt : At college, Matt goes badass ninja on someone/multiple someones - for hurting Foggy. Whether Matt stops them in the act before Foggy is actually hurt or finds Foggy already hurt and goes batshit is up to you, as long as Foggy is there to witness Matt fighting, and Matt knows that but decides Foggy's important enough to him that it's worth blowing his secret to save him. Awkward confrontations about supersenses and ninja fighting skills ensue, and the two of them get closer as they renegotiate their friendship. Can end in Matt/Foggy or stay platonic, either one is good!

It's the first night of winter break, their last class finishing early that morning, followed by a celebratory nap under piles of knitted technicolor his grandmother had sent home with them after Thanksgiving.  She had not been pleased to hear about the shitty dorm heating and had spent the remainder of their fall break dutifully knitting, making Foggy copy her stitching as Matt responsibly held the skeins of yarn open for them.

Now though, they were pressed comfortably together against the wall in a bar just off campus, Foggy dutifully narrating the patrons coming and going, and their accompanying drama as they take pulls of shitty beer from vessels that sweat with condensation in their hands.  They’ve been here for a few hours, an easy buzz settling over them, though Matt thinks he might finally bail after this drink is gone.  Too much noise and other sensations making his end of semester fried brain more sensitive than he had expected.

Foggy breaks from him with a _brb dude_ and Matt is immediately alert, a softness at the edge that calms his senses after two beers, but still more than able to pick things out.  Foggy is at the bar in a few steps, talking to someone, and he has to listen for a moment to try and get the situation, all the voices ebbing and flowing together around him.  He eventually gives up as Foggy heads back in his direction without the threat of imminent danger, a girl with him, though their body language doesn’t add anything suggesting attraction.  Foggy barks a fake laugh, and the Girl's heart beats with a heavy pounding of fear, but it's slowing as she follows his lead with a hollow giggle of her own.

"Matty!  You remember Carol, right?"

He's got a good feeling that Carol isn’t this girl’s name, but he turns on his smile that Foggy swears makes all parties swoon and is rewarded with a kiss on his cheeks that's all soft skin and the bright smell of an appletini.  He stays quiet as the two talk, laughing when polite or when Foggy jostles him into the conversation.  It lasts until they are joined by two more girls, uneasy and apologetic as they collect their friend, the trio hugging Foggy, then Matt with words of thanks before departing for what seems to be the door, he listens for them until Matt loses their steps in the crowded bar.  His buzz is fading out, the situation putting him on high alert in case anything happened, wiping the feeling of alcohol from his system aside from a headache in the base of his skull.

"What was that all about?"

Foggy blows out a breath, making his hair rustle as he’s taking a long drink of his beer.  His heart has been beating quicker, but now it's slowing again, the tension leaving the lines of his body.

"Some meat head wouldn’t leave her alone, and I didn’t see anyone stepping in, so I came up like the bisexual best friend and previous hook up and shepherded the lamb back to your aura of Catholic protection.  Your jacked muscles kept the guy away at glaring distance, because you're the real MVP Matty.  Though if she was a lamb, maybe you’re more wolf."

He knocks his glass against Matt's in a sloppy toast that spills beers over their hands and grins as Matt speaks.

"Knight in pink and blue armor.  That’s the bi flag, right?

Foggy cackles, and Matt ignores the murmurs of a few people around him who apparently don’t know how to have fun and think college bars should be quiet.  Matt wouldn’t mind a quiet bar, but he knows better than to expect that here.

“Alright man, I need more beer if we’re going to be fending off dastardly knaves all night.  You good?”

He leans in close, and Matt can feel his warm breath stirring the hair over his ears.  The bar is loud and crowded, Foggy probably thinks he needs to shout to be heard.  Matt can only nod though, the presence of his friend’s warm body pressed against his side heavenly for the span of a heart beat before he’s off to the bar, taking the scenic route to stop and talk to people he knows.

They stay to split another pitcher before Matt’s over the top yawning convinces Foggy to head back to the dorm with jokes about climbing the hill of old age.  Matt is feeling loose enough for him to retaliate with a smack of Foggy’s ass with his cane, quick and light, though he thinks he might have to hit him again when Foggy bends over a bush and mock begs _harder!_ He’s just sober enough to know that if he crosses that line, he may not be able to pull himself back from it.

 

OoOoO

 

Later he’ll blame the beer for his poor response time, the steps coming behind them as they cut between campus offices not reaching him until they’re echoing off of the buildings hugging their path, loud in his ears.  The attack is messy and telegraphed, and he shoves Foggy out of the way, his bulk and flailing arms keeping him mostly upright as he slides across the ice they had been carefully treading.

“What the-  Matty!  What are you doing!?”

He ignores Foggy to focus on his footing, listening intently as he carefully turns to take whatever comes next.  The path was slick with ice, he didn’t know if it was black or not, probably sun melted snow dripping to cover concrete and asphalt before apparently flash freezing with nightfall.  He’s able to use it to his advantage when another hit comes for his skull, the air whistling around some large object.  Matt slides out of the way, throwing a hand out for the weapon as he lands a well-aimed strike to the throat, setting off a choking coughing fit.  Whoever they were, they hadn’t been expecting a fight back, stumbling back with their weapon held out front. Whoever he is has an inch on him if anything, the heavy breaths leaving him lighting up the lines of his body within his radar senses.  

He slides back a bit, fists up and guarding his face as he listens for the next attack.  It comes after a heaved breath, and whatever it is has reach.  Matt just manages to miss a swipe with it, the object landing with a solid WHACK! against the brick of a wall at his back.  _He’s got this_ , anything to keep Foggy safe.  Matt’s hand manages to snag the thing on the next swing, and he yanks as soon as he’s got half a solid grip on it.  His hands are freezing and while he had been lamenting a lack of gloves, it comes in handy now when they are too numb to feel much of anything.  He has to wonder about the sure absurdity of someone coming after them with a hockey stick, but has zero time to as the man?  Yes, male, a pissed and drunk one at that, launches himself at Matt. 

It’s fairly easy to hold his own against this guy, and he think he might be okay until Foggy throws himself into the mix, adding another variable that Matt doesn’t have the capacity to process right now.  They grapple until Foggy is shouting just beside his ear, making him flinch. 

“Hey asshole!  Who goes around attacking blind guys?”

It distracts him, and Matt gets a good jab under his jaw that has his teeth slamming together for a moment, then there’s the sound of a scuffle, and an unfinished yelp from Foggy.  He stills immediately, hands up and open in surrender.  The guy’s accent is thick, and Matt thinks west coast, though he tries to focus harder on Foggy, to make sure the situation is half controlled.

“That’s right you blind bastard.  No sure how you fight so well, but that doesn’t Matter when I’ve got your bitch right here?”  He pauses to spit something copper smelling onto the pavement.  “You know he was all over another whore in that bar, did he tell you that?  All hands before they came up all close.  Right in front of your face.”

The guy is definitely drunk, but coherent enough to be a threat it seems.  There’s the sound of skin and a rustle of clothing, followed by a metallic click that has Foggy’s heart stutter as he gasps in apparent fear.  There’s a struggle, but Matt doesn’t want to attempt approaching yet.    

“Matty, he’s got a knife.”

His voice is small, naked as it’s singled out from his usual self-assurance, fear blanketing his tone.

“That’s right.  But it’s okay, I’m sure your boy here won’t mind a few scars, my hand might slip y’know.  He can’t see them, what does it matter?”

His laugh is dark and cruel, and that rage that Matt’s been keeping in check for so long is boiling to the surface.   A feral sort of growl rips through his throat, and just as he hoped he would, Foggy takes advantage of the momentary distraction, driving the solid point of his elbow back into the softness of the guys gut.  There’s a _whoosh_ as his breath is forced out of him, a scratching noise following as Foggy yelps and fights against the ice to get back on his feet.  As soon as he’s clear, Matt throws a bottle from the floor of the alley, dealing away with the knife as it skitters away from his grasp to slide under the dumpster.  The man howls, cradling his hand to his chest.

“My hand!  You’ll pay for that you blind fuck!”

He’s angry now, but nowhere near the level of rage that Matt is holding onto.  It makes him even more reckless, bodily throwing himself at Matt so it’s only too easy to man handle him away from his body.  It takes a few jabs to the soft spots covering organs and a strike to the back to the skull, but he finally goes down like a sack of bricks, crumpling in a heap at the base of a dumpster.

Suddenly Matt is back to himself, the cold air burning his lungs and something wet on his knuckles.  He wipes them on his jeans, gritting his teeth as the rough material catches on his torn skin.  Foggy’s hysterics rip him out of his self-check. 

 “Holy shit Matt, look, there’s been things here and there and I thought I was crazy, so I didn’t worry about them vocally but _fuck man,_ I’m kind of freaking out!” 

He’s gasping, Matt thinks he might start hyperventilating any minute.  He doesn’t know what he’ll do if that happens and doesn’t have time to worry before Foggy is nearly shouting as he resumes speaking. 

“Now this!  _Are you even blind?_ ”

Foggy’s voice is way beyond creeping into hysterical, all but running for the cliff of a break down.  I’m cuts through enough to keep him from kicking the man in the teeth, to hurt him so he can’t hurt anyone else.  What would have happened if this had happened to someone who couldn’t defend themselves he wonders.  Matt bends down after finding his cane with his boot, only slipping once as he retrieves it and easing into standing.  Their lone attacker is groaning, apparently beginning to come too, something Matt has no patience to spare for right now. 

“I-I’ll explain, but back at the dorm.  It’s freezing, and this guy will wake up soon, and I don’t want to be here when that happens.”

He keeps a hand on the building’s wall as he heads in what he hopes is the right direction.  He’s been turned around in the fight and his senses are useless when things are identical in both directions.  Foggy snags him with a shaking arm, fitting him neatly against the warmth at his side as he turns them to go back in what must be the right direction, making some comment about Matt getting lost in a paper bag.  The walk is quiet with a painful sort of tension, not even slipping feet and half tumbles drawing more than an uneasy smile from either one.

It starts snowing halfway into back to the dorm, great big flakes that soak into his hair and cling to Foggy’s hat.  They get into the dorm wet and chilled, but fine all things considered.  Both are flagging with adrenaline long gone, and Matt feels a hollow sort of something in his gut at the coming conversation he has to endure, the possibility that Foggy will want nothing to do with him after said conversation.  The smell of blood has changed to the thickness that speaks of coagulation, but he can’t tell if it’s his own or not.  It’s hard to focus on the smell of copper beneath the pounding of Foggy’s heart at his side

Foggy unlocks their door, shrugging out of his jacket and unwrapping his scarf, his motions jerking as he wars with agitation and stress.  He’s holding his breath before he finally rubs a hand over his face, trying to find the right words.

“Alright I’m going to go grab us some coffee from the student kitchen.  Get changed and get your story straight before I come back.”

He doesn’t mean to sound as harsh as he does and guilt flares in him as Matt’s shoulders hunch, like he could burrow into the space between them and disappear if he tried hard enough. 

“Foggy I-  I never meant to hurt you, that’s why I-“

“Save it for a minute Matt.  I have a feeling we’re going to be up for a while and I need to chase the rest of this buzz away.”

Matt swallows thickly and nods, wonders if he can get away with jumping out the window in his absence and run somewhere that isn’t here.  To his credit, Foggy gives him a second look, like he’s surveying him for a mortal wound under his sweater as he peels it off before heading down to the small kitchen on their floor.  Matt changes, slipping into a hoodie and a pair of sweats he had used as pajamas the night before.   

 

OoOoO

 

Foggy returns with two mugs, the humidity of the steam sticking to Matt’s hand as Foggy folds it around his mug.  The coffee is just as shitty as ever, but the scalding liquid chases away some of the chill that had settled into his bones outside.  He’s going to be sore tomorrow, out of practice without the rough conditions, not to mention the slick surface under his feet to screw with his balance. 

“I figured this would take a while…”

“You’re uh, probably not wrong.”

He sips his coffee while Foggy changes, and it’s after mutual stalling as Fogg starts braiding his thick mane of hair when Matt finally settles on the edge of his bed, hands curled into fists in his lap.  He wants to draw his knees up to his chest, give himself another barrier.

“I wasn’t trying to be a hero with that accident as a kid, kind of hated the papers saying that for a while.  That man needed help and I reacted, did the right thing like my dad taught me to.  I don’t even know how I knew, but I was there.  I remember jerking away from my dad while he was talking to someone, and then I was on my back in the street.  My face was on fire.” 

It’s like he’s suddenly back on that street, the smell of chemicals and asphalt burning in his nose, sirens and shouts in the background, the scrape of his dad’s shirt across his face. 

“The truck was carrying barrels of concentrated development chemicals.  I-uh read the report a few years back when I turned eighteen and could access the more classified stuff.  They had been produced and were on their way to a lab for testing because they didn’t know for sure what would happen.  It was a new compound and they were hopeful it could be used medically, they just didn’t know for what purpose.”

The thought drags a dry laugh from his throat, his bangs tickling his forehead when he shakes his head at the absurdity of it. 

“Oddly enough, I escaped the accident without much physical damage for a kid nearly getting hit by a truck.”

He takes a long drink of coffee, wishing it had something stronger in it to fortify his nerves.   His hands shake as he plucks his glasses from his face, tossing them to the clatter onto the bed side table.  He faces Foggy then, blinking once, and showing him hopefully the lack of focus that existed in his eyes, the flat pupil that neither dilated nor contracted in the light of their bedside lamps. 

Foggy’s breath caught when Matt looked in his direction, and he’s pretty sure Foggy has never seen him without them face to face.  Maybe in a drunken stupor, or while he’s half asleep.  But this is the first person in many years that Matt has allowed to see him without the barrier for more than a quick instant.  His heart was racing across from him, different from the heavy pounding of Matt’s. 

His left hand moves up to his face almost automatically, he could feel the scars with his fingers and traced them, splotches like paint splatter on his skin covering his eye lids and the bridge of his nose, small freckles of scared skin resting high on his cheek bones.  He wondered if they were shiny like some people said scars were.  Matt could feel each one.

“At first, I was just blind, in pain too, but I mean what do you expect from chemical burns.  They ran tests and tried a few things, but it was no use.  They couldn’t give me my sight back.  My dad was there for it all, even when they said he wasn’t allowed in wherever they were talking me, he’d flip the switch to his boxing mode and suddenly it wasn’t a big deal for him to come with.  A big guy like that was pretty scary to a couple of doctors I think.” 

He chuckles, his heart squeezing as he thinks of his father, refusing the choice of exiting his hospital room until there was a way for him to be as close as safely possible to his boy.  The doctors would be there, so would nurses and other assistants.  He’d wear the lead apron, scrub up with the rest of them even.  But that boy wasn’t leaving his sight.

“About a week later, I was in a different sort of agony, despite the fact that the burn wounds were healing at a pretty good rate something was wrong.”

His heart hammers against his ribs, and he wants to puke.  This is it.  The one thing he’s ached to tell Foggy, well one of two things maybe, but a secret that he’s wanted to share since he first decided he could call Foggy his friend.  When he decided he could _trust him_.    

“They told me my other senses would compensate for the loss of my sight but by the second week in the hospital I could hear the screams of ladies having babies on the other side of the hospital, of orders and chaos in the ER two floors down.  There were gunshots on the street, car horns in traffic blocks away.   I was just a kid, I didn’t know what was happening.”

Matt shudders, cradling his mug in both hands, striving to pull the warmth from it. 

“I stayed quiet kept my head down, tried to live with it.  I was adapting slowly but surely when my father was murdered.  After that I lost everything I had built up for myself, all the walls came down in a burning heap.  I screamed and fought when they took me to the orphanage, I wanted to sleep at my father’s grave.  I was just over ten and I wanted to die.”

It’s the first time he’s said that out loud, and a sob catches in his throat.  You couldn’t say that to a social worker, not unless you wanted to be locked up in a hospital.  None of this had ever been said to the nuns, to the priests, why would he when suicide is preached as a sin.  Just a careful wish in his heart that he would die in his sleep and wake up in heaven with his father, because that’s where he had to be.  Right?

“The nuns they brought someone in, he helped me learn but-“

Another admission, not a secret, but shame in his gut, an abandonment that still lies heavy on his heart some days.  He had never told anyone about the treatment Stick gave him, the beatings, the training drills, the words that hurt more than the blows themselves.  Promises of loneliness or a mixture of pain and death. 

“All they knew was that he had stopped me from screaming and clawing at the walls.  I was taught to defend myself or take the beating that was coming anyways he-  He made me the way I am.  Before he left that is.”

Foggy’s bed squeaked as he stood, and Matt had half a thought that he was going to leave.  Instead he took a seat next to Matt, their thighs brushing.  He doesn’t want to risk any further contact, sensing the tension in Matt, so he waits for him to continue, giving him a small lead. 

“Tell me what you’re like.  And I don’t mean the dork I know, or the handsome wounded duck.  I want to know what’s hiding under those acts.”

Matt’s head hangs, and he turns to look at Foggy, those sightless eyes unsettling but riveting at the same time. 

“It’s not an act around you foggy, I swear.  I can get around easier than I make it seem.  I can hear where things are in the room based on sound, if there isn’t something in the room, I can snap or whistle.  But none of that that has anything to do with my relationship with you.”

A sad sort of smile fights its way to his face, and he bumps a knee against Foggy’s, hoping to insist his feelings on the matter.

“You make me laugh, took me in wounded duck and all, and I’m happy here.  I was told I didn’t deserve that, _that I didn’t need it_.  Relationships, friends and family, they were a weakness.  They would get me killed like-”

He can barely say it.

“Get me killed like my father.  Or get someone else killed.  Stick made me cold and indifferent, and though I was already angry, he fueled that fire, shaping it into what he thought I needed to be.  I took up boxing after he left me, I figured I had already ruined my dad’s memory by learning to fight, might as well learn something I can practice on my own.  I was weak, and he abandoned me just like everyone else had.”

His voice catches and the next thing he knows the tears are flowing and his nose is running, showing weakness in front of someone who Matt shouldn’t even associate himself with.  Stick would kick his ass until he couldn’t walk if he was here.  Though if he was still around Matt wouldn’t even be in college.  He’s spiraling into that deep pit of old training and Catholic guilt when something touches him, and he jerks in response.  Foggy slowly moves again and takes one of his hands from his coffee mug rubbing thumbs into his palm in a slow rhythm of reassurance

“Hey buddy, it’s alright.  That guy sounds like a dick.  You’ve been through some fucked up shit.  I don’t get it, I mean I have an idea, but won’t get it without living it.  I’ll do my best though.  My mom told me the best thing sometimes is a good cry and a hot shower.  Sometimes followed with a finger of whiskey.”

Matt makes a wet sound of amusement and thanks God again that he was placed with Foggy as his roommate.  He nods and sniffles, just lets himself feel for a moment ignoring everything outside aside from Foggy’s soft fingers against the callouses of his hands.

Foggy talks him through the rest of it, even pushing him to talk about the first month of school and they eventually end up on their sides on Matt’s bed.  He talks about having to meditate in order to fall asleep before he got used to Foggy’s snoring, of how surprised he was when Foggy rallied at his side for braille copies at the library, memories from genuine fun Matt had been able to enjoy since taking on law school with Foggy.

“Seriously though, that’s some ADA shit and you’re a law school.  _Do better_.”

Matt snatches his hand away in mock offence, pushing earnestly again to prove he wasn’t lying to Foggy, maybe just omitting some truth of his life and person.

“I can’t fill out my name on forms that aren’t braille without help, I can’t read a book, or look at a screen.  I don’t know that the girls who talk to me at parties are pretty, I just know that they don’t smell like cheap beer and weed.”

He’s trying to think of some way, anyway he can prove this to Foggy without getting someone else caught up in the mix. 

“Let me prove it to you.  Type out anything you want on your laptop, deepest secret, anything you know I’d react to.  I won’t be able to see it.  I’ll let you throw something at me after.”

With a bit of poking Foggy relents and shuffles back to his own bed after scooping up his laptop, he takes out his mouse and goes to a typing website, clicking his way into a sentence that would have Matt laughing if it could see.  Embarrassing childhood memories at their finest.  When he looks back, Matt is peering over his shoulder with zero recognition.  It’s almost unsettling, seeing him so close without the glasses between them.  His heart beats harder as he goes for another sentence, and one more.  But Matt is a terrible lair, and his face is as blank as ever, though he seems to be listening intently each time Foggy clicks a button on the mouse.

“Anything?”

Matt leans over and oh so carefully draws a finger cross the screen.

“Nothing, other than the fact that you need to dust this thing.”

And suddenly they’re back to where they were before, Foggy blowing a raspberry at him as he stands and stretches, his legs stiff from where he had compacted himself under his laptop on the shitty bed.

“Alright, I get to throw things at you for being a dick, right?”

Matt luckily takes the jab in stride, smiling softly but nodding nonetheless.

“Give me a blindfold.  Just so you can really see it.”

“Hmmm I think I gave all of those to Marci when we broke up.”

Matt wrinkles his nose, and Foggy takes an absurd amount of pleasure in it.  He knew damn well Matt hated her, at first he thought it was academic rivalry, but towards the end he was hopeful it was more than just his projected fantasies, not that either of them ever did anything about it.  Marci is still holding out that he’s not alone with the whole feelings thing.  That’s the least of his worries now though.

They make do with one of Foggy’s ties, the broad end taking the usual place of his glasses, a knot hanging just over his ear as he faces the wall.  He can still make everything out with the quiet fan of Foggy’s computer, the buzz of the light in their bedside lamps.  Foggy grabs something soft first, he can hear it crush under his grip and Matt appreciates the thought, ignoring the pang that whispers he still isn’t trusted.  Not something easy to believe he tells himself. 

Foggy jumps when Matt speaks as soon as its left his hand, Matt’s own hand coming to the small of his back to catch the object before as soon as it’s within touching distance.

“Roll of socks, you’ve got to be more pissed than that Fogs.”

Foggy grumbles something that isn’t actually words and chucks something else his way.

“Pocket dictionary.  Sounds just like a bible, but it smells like the plastic cover.”

He catches it was well.  They escalate slowly.

“Pencil.”

“CD, not a miniature frisbee.”

“Stuffed frog your sister sent you.”

“That ridiculous plastic boxing thing you put on top of my desk.”

“It’s a nun Matt.”

“God strike me down if I miss then.”

Foggy snorts with surprised amusement and they have to take a moment before they can continue.  They cycle through more and more things, and Matt can smell the agitation in Foggy’s sweat when picks the next item up.  The last object throws him, but he names it just before it touches his hand. 

“Picture frame.”

Foggy is breathing harder, Matt can hear the frustration in it, and he turns to catch the photo with both hands, too worried that it might slip from his fingers.  He manages to add it to the growing pile he has on his own desk and tenses just before Foggy touches him, willing himself not to react like he was trained to.  The tie is ripped free and Foggy stares, those eyes wide and dark, unfocused as he looks past Foggy’s ear.  He pushes Matt back with more force than he intends to, pinning his back to the dorm room wall with a thud. 

“You fucking lied to me!”

Foggy’s eyes sting with tears, and he hates it, doesn’t see why he’s so angry.  People are allowed to have secrets, especially Matt now that he’s leveled up and unlocked his horrible back story.  Fuck, he can’t even blame the guy.  But there’s a rage in him, and he suddenly wishes he had gotten a chance to deck the creep from the bar. 

Matt in all of his brainless Glory just sticks his chin out, offers himself up for the hit that he no doubt expects, but that Foggy knows will never fall.  He settles for shaking him by the shoulders until his head rattles against ancient paint, his eyes locked on those that look like melted chocolate and caramel, unfairly pretty among the near artistic smattering of scars.

“You’re my best friend, and you never trusted me.”

“I trusted you more than you know Foggy!”

Matt can’t stop his voice from rising, can’t help himself from rising up and pressing closer. 

“I let myself go soft around you, I haven’t been this close to anyone since my dad!  How the hell could I risk that by saying anything about this.  I couldn’t risk you ending up dead if Stick was right.”

He makes a jerking gesture at his face, and God, he wants to claw at it he’s so frustrated.

“I never meant to hurt you.  I-“

“You never meant to tell me either…”

That sentence falls just as hard as a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs.  It’s true though, he figured it was a bridge he would cross when he came to it, just didn’t expect it to appear so suddenly.  Matt deflates a little and sighs.

“I haven’t trusted anyone like this since Stick, and that got me nothing but abandonment.  I’ve been fighting with the choice to tell you for so long Foggy.  Maybe you’d run, like you eventually would have, and I’m saved that pain.  I- There was no scenario where you stayed with me.”

Foggy grinds his teeth, and the air whooshing around his arms as he throws them up with frustration paints a clear enough picture.

“You didn’t give me the chance to prove to you that I would Matt!”

Matt forces himself to take a step closer, getting just as riled up.

“Ive never been treated like a regular person until you, there was always pity!  But you called me a hero, you wanted, insisted on becoming my friend.  You made me feel normal!  I couldn’t risk it!”

There’s silence between them, and then Foggy is yanking him against his chest, crushing him in a hug as he takes a breath that says he’s fighting off the tears Matt can smell brimming.  He sniffles pathetically, and Foggy pats his back, manhandling him until he’s shoved onto his bed. 

 

OoOoO

 

They lay side by side, the silence raw, but easier now that things have been explained, that the lines in the sand are freshly drawn away from the tide.  The pair stays like that for a time, and Matt let’s his mind go blank, ignores thinking about anything, and he imagines Foggy is doing much the same. 

Oddly enough it doesn’t feel weird all but one of his secrets is out and he feels a weightlessness despite the blanket of exhaustion.  The aches from the fight are more than creeping in now and he’s happy that they literally have nowhere to be tomorrow.  He plans on staying in bed with Tylenol while he curses life, this of course happening when he’s in between panicking about everything he just hashed out into the open.

His heart begins to race at the prospect of how things are going to be in the morning, once this is all out in the harsh light of day, and Foggy makes a noise, coming out of his half dozing as Matt starts to fidget.  Maybe Foggy was still sort of drunk, he could wish. 

“You alright Matty?  I can hear those gears in your brain grinding.  I think we’re out of WD-40.”

Matt shakes his head, knowing better than to try lying.

“Why aren’t you freaking out anymore, I mean about my senses and everything?”

“Well-“

He yawns hugely and his jaw cracks with the interruption

“It makes sense sort of.  Not like either of us can do anything about it though.  Not to mention freaking out is going to accomplish absolutely nothing, so that’s a problem for tomorrow Foggy.”

“Tomorrow Foggy will probably have more questions though…”

His adrenaline from earlier is nothing but fumes now, and the thought of getting up and going to crash on Foggy’s bed sounds like climbing Kilimanjaro at the moment.  Wouldn’t be the first time they’ve slept just shy of on top of each other.  

“Tomorrow Matt will have to do his best I guess.  I hear bribery pancakes are being served at the dining hall.  I also heard that you have an organic chocolate stash somewhere, unless you just keep a collection of empty wrappers.”

They share a quiet snicker of laugher at his side and Matt rolls his eyes and leans over the edge of the bed, fishing around with an arm until he finds a stashed chocolate bar and smacks it on Foggy’s chest.  He listens as peels the wrapper open and offers Matt a chunk first, letting the treat melt in his own mouth before he speaks.

“That’s all your secrets though?  Just one tangle of them.  Not too bad for all that Catholic guilt you carry on your shoulders.”

Matt’s so unprepared for the remark that he jerks into a frozen position, and Foggy shuffles beside him.

He can almost hear Foggy’s eyes narrowing.

“What?”

“What are the odds I can keep one more secret?”

Foggy sighs in a way that all but voices denial of the request without the use of vocabulary.  Matt makes a pained noise in the back of his throat, trying to shrink in on himself before his friend, _Jesus_ , his friend even after all of this, can answer.  How much can a friendship take in one night?

“Not likely my friend.  You’ve been Clark Kenting around for how long?  I feel owed.  Don’t make me resort to real physical persuasion.”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out that way, but it sounds absolutely filthy leaving Foggy’s mouth, the mental image of Matt’s lithe body pinned under his own all too clear.

“I don’t think, I can’t-“

He’s tripping over the words, beginning to panic before his mouth overrides his brain, finally blurting out.

“I’ll show you!”

Matt sounds half hysterical, but he can’t say it out loud, the words aren’t even tangible to himself, so he shuffles up onto his shoulder to lean across the tiny bed, uses a palm to find Foggy’s face, holding him still by softly cupping his cheek and closes the distance, pressing his lips against the other’s.  Foggy makes a noise in the back of throat, but not one of displeasure as far as he can tell. 

He doesn’t want to jerk back, in case this is the only time this happens, in case Foggy thinks he regrets it for some reason.  Neither one of them have moved, and he has a feeling that over the press of their lips Foggy is blinking at him.  He’s spared from any deduction as Foggy hooks an arm over his shoulder and pulls him away from the edge of the bed and on top of him as he wiggles to the center of the mattress, pressing their chests tight together as his lips part beneath Matt’s. 

A noise of surprise leaves him, and he curls his hands in the soft material of Foggy’s shirt as he reacts to keep his balance.  He was expecting to be pushed away, maybe even shoved off the bed, not pulled closer with a noise of _something,_ he can’t even name in the back of Foggy’s throat.  The kiss is gentle and tentative, achingly different from what Matt wants, but he’s already feeling the sense of borrowed time. 

Foggy sucks in a breath when he pulls back, swallows thickly as he nods, the long thickness of his braided hair dragging over the bed sheets.  He seems to come to some sort of decision in his head, because he smacks Matt in the chest with the meat of his palm, forcing a grunt out of him and rocking him back.

“You think I’m that easy Murdock?”

Matt’s way past confused, he thought Foggy was okay with it, but maybe he had misread things, and can only stumble his way over half formed words until he’s jerked closer by his shirt front and hauled into another kiss, this one deeper than the last.  This kiss is harder too, Foggy sucking on his lower lip before tugging on it with his teeth as the blood rushes hot to the surface.  His hand relinquishes the grip on Foggy’s shirt to smooth over his chest, agonizingly slow to take in all the detail he can before they need air in their lungs. 

Both are panting by the time they break once more, and Foggy laughs, shuffling Matt closer with a grip at the small of his back.  He’s fully on top of the other, their stomachs pressed together as their legs fit themselves into a comfortable tangle.

“I’m totally that easy, especially for you.  _Kiss me again_.”

There’s a firm press of something against his thigh, and Matt is pretty sure Foggy isn’t hiding anything in the pocket of his sweats.  He’s not the only one affected, and he wants to shift, to press a little bit closer.    

Foggy was never really mad at Matt, can only try to understand what the guy was going through, what he had been going through.  Okay, maybe a little mad, but mostly frustrated.  He can’t imagine it felt all that good hiding the shit show he’d been dealing with since he was a kid, especially as close as he apparently feels.  The thoughts are interrupted by another kiss, Matt taking his mouth and tasting him like he’s got all the time in the world to suck on his tongue and feel him up.

They haven’t even talked feelings yet, but Foggy’s got a good idea that the pining’s been mutual.  As if he picks up on his churning thoughts, Matt’s hand slips hot and calloused against his own, the grip soft and sweet despite the fact that their sucking face like hormone ridden teens.   

“That’s a hell of a secret though Matty.  I might be more upset about you hiding this one than the super powers.”

 

OoOoO

 

They make out on the bed for a time, brave hands and curious mouths as they find their way around the other’s body.  Matt finally has to stop when his lips begin to tingle, sensitive despite his interest, his breath puffing hot and humid at the side of Foggy’s throat.  A stray tongue licks there, tasting salt and arousal its owner laughing as the body attached jumps at the tickling sensation. 

“Are you upset, _really_?”

His voice is quiet, even to his own ears.  Foggy’s heart hammers, so close to his ear he’s just shy of being able to feel it, chest buzzing as he makes a thoughtful noise.

“I’m not.  ‘M actually thinking you might have redeemed yourself with that second secret even, though if you wanted to make it up to me, I won’t complain.  Like I said, pancakes.”

Matt will take it, knows that they’ll work though this eventually, just like the other speedbumps that have cropped up since they became friends.  He maps his way across Foggy’s jaw with his mouth, nosing curiously at the facial hair he had felt on his chin as they kissed, the stubble as it transitioned to smooth skin under his touch. 

He laves at the lobe of his ear with the firm press of his tongue, the rise and fall of Foggy’s chest below him making it feel like he’s on a rocking boat of some sort.  He uses a shy drag of his teeth over the same spot curiously, and jerks back abruptly as Foggy yelps with a noise of pain.

“Foggy?”

Matt pulls back abruptly, thumb and pointer finger coming to touch the spot delicately.  The smell of copper floods his noise with a wetness under his fingers, and the taste of blood is on the back of his tongue where it had been hiding under his distraction.  Foggy hisses under the touch and bats Matt’s hand away with a grumble. 

“I’m alright, it’s just a small cut, only an inch or so?”

“An inch?  Foggy you might need stitches, we need to-“

He’s cut off as the cage of Foggy’s arms forces him back against his chest, firm against Matt’s struggles until he gives up fighting and goes pliant in his arms.

“I cleaned it in the bathroom, it’s fine.  I’m not giving the asshole from the bar the satisfaction of putting me through stitches.”

Matt squirms against him, agitation seizing him as he recalls the fight, the details he had lost in the conversations after it.

“We should put some alcohol or something on it.  I touched it with my tongue, human mouths are disgusting.”

“Yeah well you probably got some blood on your teeth, if die, we die together.  Like men.”

They talk quietly, trading soft touches and kisses until one of them falls asleep, neither are sure who drifts off. 

 

OoOoO

 

They wake up still tangled together, miraculously with both bodies still on the small bed.  A blanket had been collected in some half-awake state in the middle of the night, draped up around Matt’s shoulders as he nuzzles further into Foggy’s shoulder.  He hates mornings.

Foggy kisses him first when he finally lifts his head, deep and so warm he can feel the heat licking its way up from his gut to his chest.  They both hold off getting out of bed for as long as possible until Foggy’s stomach makes a loud demand of sustenance that has them both breaking into laughter.

A change of clothes and a trip to brush their teeth is all they accomplish before they make it out of the dorm’s building.  They hold hands on the walk to the dining hall for redemption pancakes, the shift small from Matt’s usual grip of his elbow, but warm against his own hand even through the layers of their gloves. 

“A morning like this calls for chocolate chips in pancakes and extra bacon Matthew, no health food for you this morning.”

“If that’s the case, then I guess I’ll be staying late at the gym.”

Foggy bumps his shoulder with his own, jostling him lightly.  They are early so to speak, hitting the hall before the hangover rush. 

“Denied!  Your schedule is full of coffee, naps, and make outs for the rest of break.  No gym allowed.”

Matt laughs, filling his plate with his usual fair, plus the addition of one chocolate chip pancake at Foggy’s insistence. 

“You’ll have to come up with some other way to help me burn off energy then.”

Color floods his cheeks as soon as the words register, their meaning only connecting after they’ve left his mouth.  Foggy laughs though, leading him to their usual table at the edge of the dining hall before settling in across from him.

“Maybe we can work something out, though now that you mention it Clark, maybe I can see this Superman work out in action…”

Matt can tell he’s grinning and shakes his head.  This turned out far better than he could have hoped, but only God knows what he’s managed to get himself into.  Matt is ready to give anything a try though.   

**Author's Note:**

> This marks off my Bingo square for "I never meant to hurt you"


End file.
